Twas the Night Before Transfer

'Twas the night before transfer and all through my mind swam thoughts of good doctors and nurses so kind... Forget that! I have a much better story to tell... and in a form far less challenging to fill.

When I began this blog, the intended audience was really just me, so I don't think I really wrote down my original transfer story. I thought that now, on the eve of my second one, might be the perfect opportunity. I'll warn you, the story will be humorous, but also filled with details of things that might make you squeemish. Read at your own risk.

As I've mentioned before, most baby-making processes are done in an enjoyable way and mainly as a matter between a man and a woman. Not ours. In order for us to make a baby, we needed a team of experts in white coats with clipboards and stethoscopes. On this particular day, what was to be the day of conception, we arrived early at the hospital. I didn't know what to expect, so I was essentially in my PJs, sans contacts and makeup. Lovely, right? Upon arrival, the woman handed me a bottle of water and informed me to drink it. Now, I have a weak bladder in general. If I have a lot to drink at dinner and then go to a movie, you could bet money that I'll be up at least once during the flick to use the bathroom. Now, right before I get the most technical PAP smear of my life, this woman is making me down water? Great. But I am good at following directions, so down it goes.

They eventually call me back. I don my lovely blue gown and grey booties and crawl into their poor excuse for a bed and under their even poorer excuses for blankets. (Seriously, I might have well have brought a role of paper towels with me!) Then, the nurse came to ask all of the typical questions, but there were two significant differences with this process. One, the hospital had just gone to a new paperless system and the nurses were NOT happy about it. Two, I had just gone through the first stage of my first IVF cycles, so I was literally on a gazillion different medications, none of which did I have the correct dosages for. So you can imagine how well that went. The nurse was friendly enough, but she stumbled through every screen while trying to make the most of the names and directions I could relay.

Once that was done, it was finally time. Two nurses grabbed my gurney and began to wheel me off to places unknown. Brian leaned in and gave me a kiss and off we went! The hallways got colder and colder until I knew we had to be close. (Those damn operating rooms have to be so cold! Normally, you're sedated; but not this time.) We entered a cold, sterile room and the two nurses, joined by another, helped shift me off my gurney and onto another table. It was FREEZING and I was essentially naked, so they kept piling warm "blankets" on me while simultaneously spreading my legs and guiding my feet into stir-ups. (Not the best way to keep warm, mind you.) At this point, I am in full OBGYN position here: butt scootched down to the edge of this table, feet in hard metal stir-ups. But this time, there was a swarm of medical professionals around me. At the doctor, I normally end up with the doc and one assistant; not here! There were my two regular nurses, one or two others who flit in and out, and then others who streamed through just to get supplies. Seriously? You might have well have put the water cooler in this OR!

I was then notified that I needed to scoot my butt down even farther on the table. I wasn't sure why until the whole table began to shift. It was like I was lying on a Transformer! The lower half slowly dropped straight to the floor and they put a little doctor's stool right there in the sweet spot. Awkward! But I tried to chat with the swarm of nurses until my doctor finally arrived.

When the doctor finally came in, he greeted me warmly and did a quick check of the situation. Still surrounded by my nursing swarm, I looked past the doctor over to my left (note: this is crotch-side real estate) and a window opens in the wall! It's the lab! I've now got four plus nurses, a doctor, and a window into the lab directly facing my girly bits! (My mom always said you lose all modesty when you have a baby... and she didn't have to go through this!) The doc asked for my blastocycts, the lab confirmed, and a few guys (really, do you need more than one?) passed my little petri dish through the window. Now it was time.

For any woman who has every had an annual, you pretty much know what came next. The hand moving down your leg so the doctor doesn't "surprise" you with his tools. (No, I'm not being dirty. Shame on you.) Insert speculum. The shoving of mysterious elements up into your vagina. But this time, he had to swab my cervix several times (which, by the way, isn't the most pleasant of sensations) and then he shoved a catheter-like tube up inside that contained some fluid and my two little fertilized eggs. Not that this wasn't pleasant enough, but at this point I also had to pee like you wouldn't believe. That bottle of water had definitely caught up to me and I was ready to burst. And the worst part? I didn't even need to drink it! It was just a precaution in case the doctor needed to do an ultrasound to guide him during the procedure. I expressed my need to the nurses and was informed I wouldn't be able to get up for another hour, so they decided to insert a catheter. Now, I've had a catheter before, but I was unconscious both when it was inserted and removed, and I've got to say that is the way to go. That was far worse than the whole freaking procedure had been! But, relief I wanted and relief I received. The doctor was in and out and gone. But I wasn't going anywhere.

When they do this procedure, they take a lot of precautions. Most people get to have sex and then cuddle or simply go about their day, but considering how much money IVF patients pay, they want to give us the best chances possible. This means I literally had to stay flat on my back for the next 24 hours. But first, I spent 20 minutes on my Transformer table where the drop-down part had come back up, but the entire thing had tilted so that I was in a reverse angle with the blood rushing to my head "to keep things in." So, that meant 20 more minutes of awkwardness as nurses flowed in and out around my shivering gauze-thin blanket covered nakedness while I tried to relax on an upside-down table. Sex has never looked so good.

After my time had passed, I was transferred back to the gurney and into an outpatient waiting facility while they slowly raised my bed's angle until I could sit up, get dressed, get wheeled down to the car, and sped home so I could get back on my, well, back again. And that's how I stayed for the next 24 hours. Ah, memories.

I am now ten hours away from repeating this entire process again. Yippee? I know that in our case it's a necessary evil, and luckily I don't have white coat syndrome or anything near the like, but it certainly isn't my idea of a good time. And, like my first visit back to the fertility clinic, I'm not sure how I'll feel once I arrive at the hospital. I supposed time will tell. So, wish me luck and perhaps I'll have a different transfer story to tell you in a few days... and hopefully a much better story to tell in nine months.